


Absolutely Perfect

by freefall_through_fandom



Series: Diets and Daughters [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comforting, Established- Mystrade, Fluff, Greg is a good dad, Insecurity, M/M, Some angst, chubby!mycroft, insecure!Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefall_through_fandom/pseuds/freefall_through_fandom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After starting himself on another diet, Mycroft has a tea party with Greg's daughter Natalie. A few comments from Greg are shared between the Ice-man and the six-year-old, that leads to Greg showing just how perfect he thinks Mycroft is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is my first attempt at a fanfiction! I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, I'm sorry for any mistakes that you spot - just comment if you spot one :) Actually comment, if you have anything at all to say, be it good, bad, somewhere in between, just let me know what you thought. So, that's all from me. I hope you enjoy! It's also posted on fanfiction.net/s/11536434/1/
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Sherlock, or any of his stories. The show is the work of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, while Sherlock Holmes itself is the creation of Arthur Conan Doyle.

Mycroft wasn't used to this kind of pressure. 

He worked ten-hour shifts; negotiated with foreign ambassadors, sometimes even dismantled terrorist schemes. Hell there’d been more than one time he’d managed to dissuade an entire boardroom from declaring war. But this was different. This was about Greg, or more accurately, his six-year-old daughter Natalie. 

Of course he knew that Greg had a daughter, and it made no difference about his feelings for him. What he didn't know, however, was how he’d gotten himself roped into a tea party with her. However it had happened; the great Mycroft Holmes was now kneeling on the floor in his near enough thousand pound suit, besides a row of teddy bears and a giggling Natalie. There was a small table in front of him upon which a plate of flower adorned cupcakes and some pink plastic cups of lemonade had been placed. 

Natalie was chattering happily about school, hardly drawing breath as she described how her class had some tadpoles and that they had finally developed legs. Mycroft could only assume that he was doing okay watching her – Greg having gone into the kitchen to make some dinner for them all. It had been a long time since he’d watched someone so young. It brought back memories of Sherlock, and the way that he’d talk for hours about some experiment he’d been doing or other…the way he’d been before Mycroft had left for Eton. 

The memory brought a pang of longing into his chest. Things had been so much easier then, he hadn't had anything more serious than Sherlock grazing his knees to worry about. Although at the time it had been a big concern. Natalie changing the topic of conversation from tadpoles brought Mycroft back to the present. “And there’s a boy in my class called Jake and he kissed Sarah, a bit like you and daddy do, but Sarah’s a girl. And then Sarah said it was gross and ran away from him so we all started playing tag, but then Tom fell over and started crying so we all had to paint pictures instead.” She recounted dramatically, her dark brown hair falling out of the neat plat it had been tied into at the start of the day. 

Mycroft shifted, stretching his cramped legs out. He hadn't known that Natalie had seen him and Greg kissing, and he made a note to be more careful next time. “What did you paint?” he asked, content just to let her chat. 

“I painted a cat.” She said proudly, “But we ran out of brown paint so I painted it in green.” Mycroft nodded a small smile forming on his face, 

“A green cat? Did you name it?” he asked, as Natalie picked up some cups and started handing them out to the congregation of teddy bears around them. 

“Yeah, I named him fluffy like the dog in Harry Potter.” Natalie said, peering up at Mycroft with familiar hazel eyes that she must have inherited from Greg. “Do you want a cupcake?” she asked, picking one up and eating the icing from the top, before pushing the plate across the table towards Mycroft. He gave her a small – albeit not very happy – smile and shook his head. He was supposed to be on another one of his diets, although it hadn't been going well recently especially with the situation in Russia going on.

“No thank-you. I appreciate the offer though.” Mycroft had a habit of comfort eating, especially if he was stressed or worrying about something. It was an embarrassing flaw that he had limited – if any – control over. When Sherlock had dropped off his surveillance after he faked his death Mycroft had been worrying almost all the time. He had no idea how much danger Sherlock could have been getting himself into, and so as a result he’d comfort eaten to an extent that he’d only ever done when Sherlock was using drugs. 

He’d had to buy new suits a few times, and he’d never felt so inadequate. He’d managed to drop some of the weight since Sherlock had returned, but he was still more than a little bigger than he’d like to be, Greg always looked so perfect, and annoyingly in shape despite his penchant for doughnuts. 

Natalie tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she looked at Mycroft. “Do you not want one because of your tummy?” she asked, obviously she hadn't meant any offence from her question… but Mycroft still froze in place for a moment before slowly nodding his head. 

He cleared his throat and tried to make sure that his voice didn't sound too strangled. “Yes Natalie, that would be why. Well done for making the connection.” He praised her, despite the rising self-consciousness he was feeling. It was stupid, he knew that much. She was only six and there was no need to feel like that in front of her, had Sherlock or Greg been in the room it would have been a different situation entirely. 

Natalie smiled at the praise, but her little face was still shining with curiosity. “Are you on a diet?” she asked, not giving him space to answer before she continued. “My mummy goes on a diet sometimes. She says that she has to eat less food so her tummy will go away, and she keeps calling Aunty Karen to complain about it.” She paused and nibbled at her cake, waiting for Mycroft to answer. 

Again Mycroft nodded, “Yes, I’m on a diet. It’s a lot like your mothers, so I’m not allowed the cake.” He confirmed, pushing back a wave of self-loathing. Natalie nodded thoughtfully. 

“Daddy said that I shouldn't say anything about a diet to you because it would make you upset. He told me that you wouldn't be very happy if I asked questions about it or said something about your…your coping methods.” She chattered, clearly concentrating in order to remember what Greg had told her. Mycroft smiled slightly at how Natalie had disregarded her father’s rules, she didn't seem to think that she’d done anything wrong though.

It was very considerate of Greg to talk to Natalie about it, and he appreciated the way he’d thought to protect his feelings. But Mycroft knew the only real way to feel better about himself was when he was back down to his relatively normal size. Simply avoiding talking about it like they had been doing for the last few months didn't help him to feel any less self-conscious. “Did he say anything else?” Mycroft asked curious despite himself, as he watched Natalie stand up and selected a book for one of her teddies to read from the bookshelf. 

 

“Yeah. He keeps saying that you’re a bloody idiot for dieting all the time and that you’re absolutely perfect at any size.” She said, once again thinking carefully to remember what her father had said as she tucked the book into the teddies arms, “But he also said that I’m not supposed to use that word.” She admitted, looking over at Mycroft with big innocent eyes. He just smiled at her, despite the way he felt. It was so very fitting of Greg to say something like that. He’d never made a comment to Mycroft about his diets or his weight before, and so he’d always thought that he was disgusted by the extra weight but too kind to say anything about it. 

“Then how about we don’t tell your father you said it. That way he’ll never know” He suggested, unable to stop thinking about what Greg had said. He really didn't think it was possible to love the man any more than he did at that moment. Natalie nodded happily, totally unaware of the importance of what she’d just said. Just knowing that someone as handsome as Greg thought him anywhere near perfect was enough to send tidal waves of happiness coursing through him. For the first time in a long time he didn't feel quite as bad about his appearance. Although he knew he shouldn't – and he knew that what Greg had said didn't make him any less fat – he still picked up a cupcake and nibbled it carefully, relishing in the sweetness of the icing. Natalie just grinned at him, and started talking about how her teacher was reading them Harry Potter in story time, her attention drifting away from his weight.

Half an hour or so later Greg called them down for dinner; Natalie jumped up like a rocket, racing downstairs. Mycroft hadn't even stood up by the time she’d left the room. He straightened his slightly too tight suit with a sigh and moved Natalie’s half eaten cupcake onto the plate in case she wanted it later, he picked up the plate and headed downstairs into the kitchen. Like most of the room’s in Greg’s house it was small, but comfortable and clean. He only looked after Natalie when he had time off, and how neat the house was a testament to that. 

Natalie had gone to sit at the table, leaving Greg and Mycroft alone in the kitchen for the time being. Greg just grinned at Mycroft, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as he passed him to get the plates out of the cupboard. “Did you both survive the tea party in one piece?” he asked jokingly, knowing how stressed Mycroft felt looking after Natalie. Greg knew he was perfectly fine at looking after children though; he just hadn't done it for a while. 

Mycroft hummed in response, “So it seems. Did you know she’s seen us kissing before?” he asked recalling Natalie’s chatter. Greg just laughed setting the plates on the side and kissing Mycroft.

“No I didn't. We’ll have to make sure she can’t see next time things get passed a quick kiss.” He picked up the plates again, pausing when he saw the cupcakes, “I could have sworn there were eight cakes when they went upstairs.” He murmured, giving Mycroft a questioning look. Mycroft leaned against the counter head tilted to the side as he watched Greg’s reaction. 

“There were eight cakes, then Natalie had half of one, and I had one.” He said simply. Greg was quite clearly surprised by this. It wasn't that Mycroft had had a cupcake that surprised him – he must have known that could happen when he’d sent them up with him – it was that Mycroft didn't seem guilty or irritated with himself about it like he usual did when his self-control slipped.

“You did?” Greg asked, clearly trying to understand what had changed, Mycroft just raised an eyebrow at him,

“Yes I did, and because you’re obviously going to ask why I’m okay with that, it’s because Natalie may have said a few things.” He answered coolly, somewhat amused by the reaction he got. Greg sighed and put his hand to his head. 

“She did?” he asked rhetorically. “Look, I’m sorry, I just didn't want her to say something that might upset you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know how sensitive about it you are and she’s only six, she doesn't understand.” He said tiredly. Mycroft walked over to stand behind Greg and wrapped his arms around him. 

“I know. Thank-you for trying.” He murmured, kissing Greg’s neck. “But I think you may have misinterpreted me. Natalie did mention my weight and diet primarily, but then she shared some information that helped me to decide that one cupcake wasn't going to make much of a difference.” He explained in a quiet voice.

Greg turned around in Mycroft’s arms tilting his head up slightly so he could see the taller man properly. “What did she tell you?” he asked, half curious and half wary. Mycroft smiled at him.

“According to her you've said on a number of occasions that, I’m a ‘bloody idiot for dieting all the time’ and that you think I’m ‘absolutely perfect at any size.’” Greg’s eyes widened slightly and colour rushed to his cheeks.

“I didn't know she was there when I said that.” He mumbled, glancing around the kitchen to make sure she wasn't there. 

“Yes, Natalie’s quite sneaky, perhaps she’d be suited to a job in MI6 when she’d older.” He joked, knowing that neither of them would be happy seeing her in such a dangerous job. Mycroft sobered up a little, meeting Greg’s hazel eyes with his own steel ones. “Gregory, why didn't you just tell me?” he asked quietly.

Greg had to work very hard to meet Mycroft’s eyes. “I just…well I just didn't want to upset you. We never talk about these things” He murmured, “I thought that if I said something you’d think I was trying to work against you. We both know how much it…your weight…matters to you, and I’m not saying you should stop dieting - because it’s your choice entirely- I’m just saying that I think you’re perfect, with or without the extra weight. If you want to diet, it has to be because you want to. Not because you think I’ll stop thinking that you’re the most wonderful man on the planet, which is never going to happen.” 

Mycroft’s arms tightened around him as he spoke, and Greg ducked his eyes away. “You are absolutely perfect. And you always will be.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. It was at that point that Mycroft buried his face in Greg’s shoulder, hiding the tears that had sprung into his eyes. Mycroft Holmes – the Ice-Man – did not cry. 

“Thank-you” he murmured simply, forcing his tears to stop before he moved away from Greg a little, his grey eyes involuntarily scanning over him to make sure that he was being sincere. Although he’d never admit it to anyone else, Greg’s words meant more to Mycroft than he could put into words. He just hoped that Greg could see how much of an effect they had on him. As soon as he verified that he was being truthful Mycroft pulled Greg back to him and planted a kiss on his lips. He didn't let it last long, cautious of Natalie walking in. “We should go to the dining room. I’m sure Natalie is waiting for us.” He said, smiling softly at Greg, who looked relieved at how Mycroft had taken the admission. 

He nodded, “Yeah, I’ll put the food on some plates and you can carry it along.” He told Mycroft, turning and placing a piece of lasagne and some vegetables on each plate – one of which was pink and had Cinderella printed on – and handing two to Mycroft. They both walked into the dinning room were Natalie had been entertaining herself by flicking few a few of her books that had been lying on the china cabinet in the corner of the room. She grinned when they entered the room immediately taking a seat at the table and starting to chatter about her pet Goldfish, creatively named Goldilocks. 

The meal was spent listening to Natalie talk about her week and Greg and Mycroft sharing stories that were appropriate titbits of entertainment for the six-year old. Including Greg’s particularly amusing story about how he’d filled his collage roommates shampoo with bright pink hair dye. Mycroft could honestly say that it was the best meal he’d had for a few months. He wasn't worried about how many calories there were, and he didn't feel guilty about it, judging by the pleased looks Greg was giving him he was happy about it too.

A few hours after the meal was finished Greg’s ex-wife Abigail came by to pick Natalie back up, and Greg carried her out to the car as Natalie could barely keeps her eyes open. She waved sleepily at Mycroft over Greg’s shoulder on the way out. Once Natalie had gone back to her mothers they sat down on the couch and stuck a documentary about the ocean on the telly. Mycroft’s head ended up resting on Greg’s knee as he lay down, eyes closed and grumbling softly as Greg ran his fingers through his hair. They sat like that for a while until Greg planted a kiss on Mycroft’s forehead. “When did you start worrying about your weight?” he asked him cautiously, curious yet slightly scared. 

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Greg, his steel eyes shifting and looking more vulnerable than Greg had seen them for a long time. For Mycroft this was a very difficult thing to talk about, even after what Greg had said in the kitchen. “Ever since it became a problem.” He sighed, not exactly wanting to talk about it, but knowing that Greg deserved that much. He tilted his head in a silent question and Mycroft closed his eyes again, trying to hide how sensitive he was about it. “Around when I was ten years old…Sherlock had just turned three, and I was the one that looked after him. It wasn't that my parents didn't care enough to look after us, just that understandably we weren't the easiest of children. I felt responsible for him, he used to follow me around and copy everything I did.” he smiled a little at the memory.

“But that winter he caught pneumonia.” He continued faltering a little, “He was bedridden for weeks, barely eating and struggling to breathe. There was nothing I could do about it obviously, and I just felt so useless. He was so sick and I couldn't help him, even after I’d learned everything I could on the topic. My parents were too worried about Sherlock to pay much attention to me, and when they did it was usually with something food related in an attempt to get Sherlock to eat something too. While it may have helped Sherlock to get better it certainly did nothing for my own health, my waistline increased rapidly – partially to do with how stressed I was at the time and the high calorie food available.” He recounted, speaking softly as he relived his memories.

Greg never stopped running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair. Had he looked up he would have seen the sadness in Greg’s hazel eyes. “That young?” he asked, quietly managing to keep the pity he was feeling out of his tone. Mycroft hummed in confirmation to Greg’s question, feeling a weight he hadn't even realised existed lift of his shoulders as he talked to Greg about his struggles. 

“I managed to slim down somewhat during university, although you've witnessed the fluctuations in my weight for yourself. It’s a constant cycle of dieting back down, and then letting my self-control slip until I’m back where I started. Sherlock takes immense pleasure in bringing that up as I’m sure you've noticed.” He mumbled, eyes opening slowly to look up at Greg. “And that’s why it’s so hard for me to not be concerned about my weight. Your words… as much as they matter to me aren't going to change the fact that I've been doing this my whole life. I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to stop.” 

Greg leaned back down, pressing a soft kiss on Mycroft’s lips. “Thank-you for sharing that with me.” He said, clearly still a little upset about how long Mycroft had been dealing with this for, after a moment Mycroft saw the look in Greg’s eyes shift from sadness to what appeared to be ingenuity. “I could show you how perfect you are…” he said lips curling into a small smile as he pushed Mycroft carefully off his lap and climbed to his feet. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Greg, but took his hand when it was offered and got to his own feet.

A comfortable silence had settled between the two as Greg headed upstairs to his bedroom with Mycroft in tow. Once they were in the bedroom Greg led Mycroft to the middle of the room. “I have an idea, I need you to trust me completely and relax.” He told Mycroft, pulling off his own t-shirt as he spoke. Mycroft shifted a little, not knowing what to expect. Usually when he undressed with Greg in the room Mycroft made sure the lights were off, but something in the way Greg was speaking suggested that it wasn't going to go like that this time. 

He watched Greg as he undressed, throwing his t-shirt and jeans carelessly into a pile behind him and keeping his eyes locked on Mycroft the entire time. “Gregory what are we…?” Mycroft asked before Greg leaned in and interrupted him with a kiss. Greg was in nothing but his boxers now; the fabric matched the colour of his hair and clung to his ass in just the right way. Mycroft’s eyes trailed over Greg’s body. Years on the force had left him with well defined muscled and a fairly flat stomach – although it had grown a little softer over the past few years it was still a long way from flabby. His skin was lightly tanned and absolutely perfect, the only marking on him was a scar on his arm where a bullet had grazed him. Even then it only added to his perfection. 

“You’ll see.” He mumbled simply. “Just let me show you.” Greg moved closer to Mycroft, slowly pulling off his blazer and carefully placing it on the dresser. Mycroft froze, not certain if he was comfortable with what Greg was doing. He’d practically had to squeeze himself into the suit that morning as it was in a smaller size than the one he’d been wearing for the past few weeks as that one had gradually been getting to big for him again. Although he tried to curtail it he knew he must have looked slightly panicked because Greg stopped and kissed him again. “It’s okay. You’re beautiful. I just want to demonstrate how perfect you are.” He murmured. 

Mycroft just nodded once, giving Greg permission to continue. He trusted him enough to let him do this. With the permission from Mycroft Greg smiled softly and undid Mycroft’s tie, letting his fingertips brush lightly across the top of his collar as he did. Mycroft’s eyes shuttered closed as he worked to keep his breathing steady. Next Greg undid the buttons of his waistcoat, sliding his hands along Mycroft’s shoulders and arms as he removed it, trying to help him relax a little. The sound of Mycroft’s slightly fast breathing filled the room as he did his best to focus on the feel of Greg’s hands and not how self-conscious he felt standing there.

After the blazer was Mycroft’s trousers were next to go. Greg hardly struggled at all to get the button undone; a huge contrast to the battle Mycroft had waged that morning to get it closed. With the pressure from the constricting trousers gone his stomach pooched forwards just a little more – although his shirt still restricted it bit – he couldn't help the blush that climbed onto his cheeks at that. But Greg hardly seemed to notice as he shimmied the trousers down, fingers ghosting down Mycroft’s legs as he worked them off, tapping his feet gently to get him to step out of them. Until he was dressed only in his black briefs and his shirt.

Once the trousers were on the dresser with the rest of his clothes, Greg set to work on Mycroft’s slightly straining shirt buttons. He worked his way down the shirt, placing quick kisses in a line down his chest, nuzzling the soft hair with his nose as he unbuttoned the shirt one at a time. Mycroft was fine for the first three buttons or so, however as Greg drew closer to his belly he shifted where he stood, unable to stay still. Of course Greg noticed and stopped. Taking Mycroft’s hand again he led him the last few steps to the bed and sat him down at the edge, kneeling in between his legs as he glanced up at Mycroft’s clearly nervous eyes. 

“It’s okay.” Greg smiled, “I want you to see how much I love every single part of you, even if you don’t like it yourself.” He murmured, undoing another button and pressing more kisses down Mycroft’s newly bared skin. His torso was starting to get softer as Greg made his way down, but it was Mycroft and it was warm and Greg had never seen anyone so beautiful. “Perfect.” He mumbled between planting kisses, “Absolutely perfect.” Once all the buttons were undone Greg peeled the shirt off him, and nudged him into the middle of the bed.

Mycroft complied quietly, working very, very hard to try and keep his muscles relaxed as he lay down in the middle of the bed, the pillows propping his head up slightly so he could still see Greg. He didn't know how to react to this, every fibre in his body told him that he wasn't good enough to be seen by Greg, but every touch from Greg, every time he whispered how perfect he was…Mycroft felt himself trust Greg that little bit more, the insecurity of being uncovered slipping away bit by bit. Despite how it was fading his self-consciousness was still there, and his heart rate had done nothing but increase.

Greg followed Mycroft onto the bed, his eyes taking a moment to take everything in. Mycroft was undeniably chubby but he wouldn't exactly call him fat. He was covered in a soft layer of fat that seemed to manifest mainly around his stomach, the place where Mycroft was most insecure. His skin was a pale creamy colour, his shoulders and arms dotted with hundreds of light brown freckles that Greg had always wanted to count. Faded stretch marks from years of weight gain and weight loss streaked across his stomach and sides. Mycroft closed his eyes, not wanting to see Greg look at him. Greg only shuffled forwards on the bed, leaning down over Mycroft’s belly and placing a kiss just below his belly button. His eyes flew open as Greg started kissing along every inch of his sensitive skin, the kisses sinking ever so slightly into his stomach. 

“You. Are. So. Beautiful.” Greg murmured, slowly kissing along his stomach. Lingering slightly longer on Mycroft’s stretch marks, just to prove that they were beautiful too. Mycroft gave in to the feeling, letting himself get washed away by the waves of Greg’s kisses. No matter how many times Greg had told him. It had only just started to sink in that Greg really did think he was perfect…it had only just started to sink in that he was good enough for him. It took quite some time, but Greg finally managed to make his way back up to Mycroft’s mouth. He shifted himself so he was lying besides Mycroft. Soft hazel eyes meeting cool steel. “I love you, and I love every single thing about you.” He told him, “Even if you’re carrying a few extra pounds, you’re still perfect and you are still so, so wonderful.” 

Mycroft smiled at Greg, pulling him into a deep and breathtaking kiss as he tried to share with Greg exactly how that had made him feel. He pulled back for air and wrapped his arms around Greg’s warm torso, “I love you.” Mycroft murmured quietly, desperately wishing that it conveyed how truly grateful he was.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was it! I really hope you liked it! Comments are greatly appreciated. I haven't decided whether or not to continue this story, or just to leave it be, so if you have any thoughts on that - or even any prompts you might like me to write- please just let me know. Thanks for reading!


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